


In Service

by dapperanachronism



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Fluff, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Nightmares, Mentions of PTSD, Mentions of Panic Attacks, Recovery, Service Dogs, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, War Veteran Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-12 20:28:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12967779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dapperanachronism/pseuds/dapperanachronism
Summary: "Have you ever considered getting a dog?" Sam asks a few days later. It turns out, Natasha knows a guy who trains Service Dogs.





	In Service

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to the amazing [fox](https://foxprints.tumblr.com) who not only drew the beautiful, adorable art that inspired this, but who also served as my sounding board, my co-plot conspirator, and my beta reader. This truly was a collaborative effort on all fronts and I loved every second working on this project. This art can be found [here](https://foxprints.tumblr.com/post/168374608170/piece-1-of-3-for-the-winterhawkbigbang-this) and you should all go look at it, all the time, because it is perfect.

Bucky shivers slightly and turns his collar up against the light breeze as he walks the last block to the café. It’s not all that chilly this morning — the warm edge to the breeze promises a beautiful afternoon to follow — but he hates the cold, hates _feeling_ cold. 

He steps into the warm building and immediately spots Steve, Natasha, and Sam all sitting around a table. His eyes narrow. There is an empty spot for him, back to the wall, clear line of sight to the exists. On the table sits a steaming hot cup of his favourite coffee, a cinnamon bun he knows is going to still be warm from the oven, and a small, flat box wrapped in blue and silver paper, edges impeccably crisp and topped with ribbons and a bow. That’ll be Nat’s handy work. 

He has half a mind to turn around and walk right back out, but Steve has already caught his eye and is waving him over. Suppressing a sigh, Bucky makes his way over and slides into his seat. His misgivings over the fuss that is clearly being made for him completely dissipate the moment he takes the first sip of coffee. He sighs softly with pleasure, closing his eyes briefly. He doesn’t ask why they’re doing this, and as much as he feels awkward with them making a big deal over him, he can’t help but to feel warm and fuzzy on the inside. 

“Happy Anniversary, Buck,” Steve says as Bucky cuts into the bun, the warm smell of brown sugar and cinnamon filling his nose. He takes a bite, and lets himself savour it. When he looks up, his friends are all regarding him with soft, fond expressions. It immediately makes him want curl into himself, but it also makes him feel eternally grateful for the people sitting around him.

There’s no chance in hell he could have made it through the last year without them. 

Smiling to himself, he raises his metal hand and wiggles his fingers, showing them off. A year ago, he’d been unconscious on an operating table for 16 hours while a team of surgeons worked on grafting a brand new state-of-the-art prosthetic arm onto the wreck that was left of his shoulder. 

Months before, he’d started his day with two arms and ended it with one. A year ago today, he went to sleep with one arm and woke up -- high on morphine -- with two. It had been unsettling, and amazing. And a hell of a lot of work and pain had followed. 

“It’s been a hell of a year,” he agrees.

“You should be proud of how far you’ve come, man,” Sam adds, and Bucky quickly takes another sip of his coffee to put off having to respond. He’d been working on that with his therapist in the lead up to the anniversary. Trying to focus on how much he’d improved rather than getting hung up and down on himself with everything that he still struggled with. Some days were easier than others.

“Speaking of which,” Steve says and nudges the wrapped box over towards him. Bucky cocks an eyebrow and has to resist rolling his eyes. 

“You didn’t have to get me a damn present,” Bucky lectures him, but even as he says it he’s untying the ribbon and ripping the paper off the box. As soon as it’s open, Bucky bursts out laughing. “Really, Steve?” He asks, picking up the obnoxiously bright orange plastic disc. “A Frisbee?” 

“A frisbee,” Steve confirms with a nod and bright smile of his own. “It’s a beautiful morning, we’re going to to the park.” 

“To play frisbee.”

“Yes, Bucky. To play frisbee,” Steve says patiently.

“Okay…” Bucky says, flipping the disc around in his hands, “but why frisbee, of all things?”

“Because a year ago you wouldn’t have been able to.” It’s so casual and nonchalant, but it still catches Bucky off guard. Steve makes a good point though. Even after getting the arm, he had a hell of a time just getting used to it. After months of functioning with only one arm, he’d felt off balance all over again. He had to relearn all the muscle memory, and it had been frustrating as all hell. But his physiotherapist had pushed him and encouraged him, and put up with him on the days he was pissy and unmotivated. He owed her so much.

“Yeah,” Bucky nods, feeling a surge of gratitude. “Alright.”

***

The park, as it turns out, was a pretty good idea. By midday it’s warmed up nicely, and Bucky’s in a good mood, able to revel in his ability to easily run and jump and throw. He uses his metal arm more than his flesh one as they play, just to prove to himself that he _can._ A breeze catches the frisbee after one of Sam’s throws and carries it farther than he’d intended. Bucky sprints after it, and as it comes down he throws himself at it, wrapping his fingers around the edge, and at the last second before he hits the ground, tucks himself into a roll. He comes to a stop crouched on his feet, and looks up. Across the field, Sam, Natasha, and Steve are cheering at what is hands down the most impressive catch of the day. Grinning, Bucky jogs back to them and flops down on the grass to catch his breath, feeling light and alive. It’s a damn good day.

If only every day could be like this. 

They rest on the grass for a while, just enjoying the smells of grass, the feeling of sunshine on their skin. Bucky is watching the other people in the park, so he notices when a slobbery, floppy basset hound trundles toward them, leash dragging behind it. 

Steve, who is not watching the other people in the park and is instead laying in the grass with his eyes closed, suspects nothing as the dog trots up to them and sticks its nose into the crook of Steve’s neck. 

Bucky bursts out laughing when Steve jerks up in shock, eyes wide with shock as the dog slobbers all over him.

“Oh, my gosh, I’m so sorry,” says an older woman, running up to them. “She just got away from me!” The woman turns to the basset hound, who is panting and jumping excitedly all over Steve. Steve’s own shock has turned to amusement too, and he’s laughing as he tries to keep his face from being licked.

“Molly!” she scolds. “You stop that right now!”

“No problem, ma’am,” Sam says with a smile. 

She huffs out a loud breath, leaning down to grab hold of Molly’s leash. “I really am sorry.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. That’s the most action Stevie’s gotten in months,” Bucky says with a sly grin. Steve blushes a little, spluttering in denial, and the woman walks off, towing Molly behind her by the leash.

*** 

“Have you ever considered getting a dog?” Sam asks a few days later, when he and Natasha have come to visit him at his apartment. The question catches him off guard.

“I can barely take care of myself some days, I can’t handle having a pet,” Bucky replies derisively. 

“Not talking about a pet. I’m talking about a service dog.”

“A service dog,” Bucky says flatly. Sam nods.

“A service dog. I know a couple of vets through the VA who have them. It’s been a real game changer for them.”

“Let me stop you right there,” Bucky snaps. “I am not getting a service dog, alright?” His shoulders tense up and he storms into the kitchen. It’s already tidy but he needs to do something with his hands.

“Sam’s right, it could be beneficial for you, James.” Natasha follows him into the kitchen, seemingly uncaring about his rapidly declining mood. “I know someone who trains service dogs. I could introduce you.” 

“I am not getting a dog,” Bucky snaps again, closing a cupboard door harder than necessary. Natasha isn’t remotely phased. She says nothing, but continues to stare at him knowingly. Damn her. He’s not angry, he’s anxious, and she sees it. 

“Alright,” Sam says, equally unfazed. God, the pair of them. It’s no wonder they’re such a good match for each other — except when they’re ganging up on him. That’s enough to make Bucky rue the day those two even met. “You wanna tell me why it is you’re shutting this idea down without even considering it?”

“Because I said so,” Bucky snaps. He sounds petulant, and he doesn’t give a damn right now. Neither Sam nor Natasha budges. He can feel their eyes boring holes in his back as he goes through the motions of making a fresh pot of coffee. The familiar routine is calming and gives him something to do so he doesn’t snap. They’re waiting him out, and he doesn’t have the energy to out-stubborn either of them, let alone the pair of them together.

“I just… I can’t, okay?” He turns around and leans back against the counter, head thudding against the upper cupboard. 

“You haven’t left your apartment in three days,” Sam points out, not backing down. “You’ve checked your exits half a dozen times in the last five minutes. And you look like you’re ready to crawl out of your skin.” 

“So what, I’m not allowed to have bad days?” Bucky sneers. Sam doesn’t take the bait. 

“Course you are. We all have ‘em, and you’re always going to have ‘em. But if there is a way to make the bad days less bad, why not at least consider it?” 

Bucky says nothing, fingers drumming against the counter as he looks anywhere that isn’t directly at his friends. Damn. Seven. No way they didn’t notice that. 

“Look, there are a few folks down at the VA that have them, they come to one of my groups regularly,” Sam says. “Why not just come down and talk to them, at least?” 

An alarm on his phone saves him having to answer, and he breathes a sigh of relief. “I have to go. I have an appointment,” he says, and quickly pushes past them both, grabbing his phone and his keys. He stops in front of the door, hesitating. Come on, Barnes, one step at a time. Just open the door, and step into the hall. He takes a deep breath to steady himself, and his hand curls into a fist at this side as anger prickles his eyes. _Goddammit,_ why can’t he just get his shit together? 

A moment later, Natasha rests a hand gently on his shoulder. “We’ll drive you,” she says. Bucky says nothing. His throat is too tight to speak, but he nods. She understands. She always does.

*** 

Bucky hadn’t asked them to wait for him, but when he leaves his therapist's office a little over an hour later, Natasha is sitting there calmly, waiting for him with a cup of hot chocolate that she must have picked up after taking Sam to the VA. He accepts it gratefully and holds it close to his chest the entire drive home.

She drops him at the front door, and Bucky drags himself back up to his flat, feeling exhausted and wrung out. The stack of reference material and list of web pages from his therapist get shoved to a corner of the coffee table. Later, he tells himself. Drawing a blanket around his shoulders, he picks up his notebook and pen, and begins to write. 

Later that evening, when he’s feeling a little better, his phone buzzes, and it’s a text from Steve with a hilarious anecdote about something Tony had done earlier that day. It’s mundane, and it makes him smile, and Steve follows it up with a reminder that Bucky can call any time. Not for the first time, Bucky wonders just how the hell he ended up with such amazing friends. He doesn’t deserve it, and yet here they are. He looks over at the stack on the coffee table, takes a deep breath, and picks it up. He owes them this much at least, and even if he doesn’t believe it, he owes it to himself, too. 

***

A couple of days later finds Bucky walking purposefully into the VA with Steve. He’s exchanged a few texts with Sam, but he hasn’t seen him since the day he’d snapped. The reference material he received from his therapist is clutched in his hand, along with a bunch of his own notes and questions. They slip into the meeting room just as Sam walks up at the front, and gives them a little wave.

“Good to see you here,” Sam greets, and a few of the vets turn and give him waves of their own. He’s been in here to group meetings a number of times, so he recognises some of the faces, and knows a few names, but he’s far from being a regular. The meeting starts, and he doesn’t say much, but he listens intently as people talk about their weeks — things they’ve done, challenges they’ve faced, what they’ve achieved. One man pulls out his phone and shows off a picture of his daughter that he’d taken after she’d won her elementary school science fair. The man beams, and Bucky wonders briefly how hard it must have been to settle into civilian life with his family again, and how much work he’s put into getting this far.

It’s nice being reminded that he’s not alone. 

After the meeting, once Sam is done saying goodbye to everyone else, he comes over to where Bucky and Steve are waiting and chatting.

“Good to see you’re feeling better, Buck,” Sam says by way of greeting.

“Look, I’m sorry about that the other day,” Bucky says quickly. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.” 

“I get it,” Sam says, nudging Bucky’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it.” Bucky nods, relieved. 

“Can we grab coffee?” Bucky asks. “I have stuff to show you.” He gestures to the stack of paper in his hands and Sam nods.

“Just gimme a sec to finish up here.” 

Twenty minutes later, and they’re back at Bucky’s favourite cafe, and he’s got a giant, steaming hot cup of the world's best coffee in his hands. Seriously, it’s worth leaving the house just for this place.

“So, I’ve been thinking about what you said,” Bucky starts without preamble, and then corrects himself. “I mean, I talked to my therapist about what you said.”

Steve and Sam give him their full attention, but it takes him a second to gather his thoughts before he continues. They’re such an important part of his support network, but it’s still not easy to talk about his feelings. 

“When I said I didn’t want a dog, that wasn’t entirely true,” he begins, keeping his hands tightly gripped on his cup to avoid tearing his napkin to shreds. “I mean that’s what I said, that’s what I thought I meant but-”

He closes his eyes for a second, breaths in deeply, and opens them again. 

“Doc Lee asked me why I shut you down without even considering it. And, the thing is, I mean, it’s dumb. I know it’s dumb. But.” He looks down at his metal arms and wiggles his fingers. “I already have so much. Getting in on the trial for the arm, I mean. That- that was a game changer. But. God, there’s so many other people, other vets out there. And I already have this amazing thing. I don’t deserve to get something else. I can’t take that away from someone else.” 

“Bucky…” Steve says, soft and pained.

“I know, I know, it’s dumb.”

“It’s not a zero-sum game,” Sam points out. “You getting a service animal doesn’t mean someone else won’t get one. There are always animals being trained, and it’s about finding a good match for both the person and the dog. And it’s not the right option for everyone.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky sighs. “But, try telling that to shitty-head-space Bucky. You know how well that goes.” 

“I do, and I get it. We’ve all been there, man.”

Steve reaches out then and flips through some of the papers. “So, that’s what all this is?”

Bucky nods. “We talked for a long time about where I was doing well, and where I was still struggling. The sleep, the not feeling secure, the thinking people are gonna sneak up on me in a crowd, all that shit. Turns out, the right dog can help with some of that. See here?” Bucky grabs a print out and turns it towards Steve and Sam. “It’s neat, the presence of a trained dog like this also helps reduce anxiety, lower blood pressure and-” he looks up and cocks an eyebrow, “it would mean that I _have_ to leave my apartment. No more hiding.”

“You think that will work for you? Dog’s going to be counting on you.” Sam asks.

Bucky nods. “I might not always be able to do it for myself, but I can damn well do it for someone else. And sometimes, that’s enough, isn’t it?”

“So, you’re going to do this?” 

Bucky hesitates longer than he would have liked before he forces himself to reply — with the truth no less.

“I’m scared too,” he admits.

“Of what?” Sam prompts gently.

“What if I’m wrong? What if I can’t actually take care of something else? What if I let it down? If I can’t give it what it needs?”

“A good question,” Sam asks, validating Bucky’s feelings. He’s always appreciated that about Sam, he never dismisses anything Bucky feels, no matter how stupid or irrational or insignificant Bucky feels it is. “What makes you think you won’t be able to take care of a dog?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky shrugs, resisting the urge to curl into himself a little. “I mean there are days I can’t take care of myself you know? How am I supposed to care for something else if I can barely look after myself.”

“Well,” Sam hums thoughtfully. “First of all, the thing about this kind of dog is that it’s a partnership. You need to provide for it, yes, but it’s going to take care of you, too, and make those days when you have trouble looking after yourself easier. Second of all, I want you to think back to when you first decided to live on your own.”

Bucky doesn’t really like thinking about that. It hadn’t been his day. He and Steve had fought, Bucky had said he didn’t want to be a burden, and Steve had gotten upset, and neither of them had the words to communicate that really, it was more about Bucky needing to know he could live on his own, and Steve still harbouring guilt about the accident. Bucky likes to think they’ve both gotten better at communication since then. But beside him, Steve twitches almost imperceptibly at the memory. “What about it?” 

“What did you consider an achievement in the day?”

“Um,” Bucky hesitates, resisting the urge to give some dumb throw away answer. “Getting out of bed. Keeping my apartment clean. Cooking something that had more than one food group,” he admits. 

Sam nods. “And at the time, those were great goals. They were the little steps you needed, and they were accomplishments that mattered. Now, today -- what do you consider an achievement?” 

“Point taken.”

“Of course you’re going to feel like there is a chance you could fail. Taking on an animal is a huge commitment. But as I’m sure Dr. Lee has reminded you, you’ve made huge progress. You wouldn’t even be considering this if you truly didn’t think you were capable of it.”

Bucky swallows and nods. 

“Besides, Buck,” Steve cuts in, his voice gentle. “The most important question, the one I think that matters most right now, is do you want a dog?” 

“I really do,” Bucky says without hesitation. The more he’s thought about it, the more attached he has become to the idea, and now he wants it so much.

“Alright, then. Normally there are organisations that you go through that help assess you and pair you with the right dog, but Natasha has already contacted her friend and he’s ready to meet with you whenever you want.”

“Of course she has,” Bucky rolls his eyes. Sam just grins.

“Ruthlessly efficient, isn’t she?” Sam pulls out his phone and fires off a quick text. “I’ll have her set something up.”

“Have you met this friend of hers?” Bucky asks.

Sam shakes his head. “She met him a long time ago, she says.”

Ah. Well then. That explains why she hadn’t talked much about him – Natasha doesn’t talk about her old life at all. Bucky decides not to ask any more questions about how they met. It’s enough that Natasha trusts him. “What’s his name?”

“Now that, I do know,” Sam informs him. “His name is Clint.”

***

Once he’s made his decision, the waiting is awful. It’s two days before Natasha can arrange an appointment with Clint, and it feels like the longest two days of Bucky’s life. Fortunately, when the time comes, they don’t have far to go. Clint’s dog training centre is in Brooklyn, a few neighbourhoods over. Close to Natasha. He can’t help but wonder what history they have that kept him close. As far as Bucky is aware — and he’s aware of a _lot_ — Natasha has kept very little of her former life. So this Clint, whoever he is, must be something special.

Bucky’s stomach is twisting itself up into knots as he approaches the building with Steve, Sam, and Natasha, and he can’t help but reach over and grab Steve’s arm, a little grateful that Stark isn’t here to get to make snarky remarks at him. Not that he’d really care. 

Natasha ushers them inside, into a small office space with a few chairs and a desk facing the door. Somewhere down a hall, a bell chimes, and a moment later, a young, dark-haired girl steps out and grins.

“Hi, Nat, Clint said you were coming by. Didn’t realise you were bringing an entourage.” She comes around the front of the desk and eyes them all critically, until something clicks and her eyes widen. “Oh my god, you’re Sam!” She’s not remotely subtle as she turns to Nat and mouths ‘ _Oh my god!’_ But, then again, Bucky’s pretty sure she hadn’t actually been trying for subtle.

“Hi. I’m Kate,” she introduces herself, offering Sam her hand to shake. “Clint’s gonna be so mad that I got to meet you first.”

Nat gives her an indulgent smile, and introduces Steve first, then Bucky. Kate stares at him, and for a moment he shifts self-consciously before she gives him the same wide-eyed look of approval that she’d given Sam. She darts a look back over to Natasha and something flashes across her face, as if confirming something. It’s uncanny, the way these two seem to be able to have full conversations without saying a word. He’s not sure he likes it, mostly because they’re definitely communicating about him. 

“Clint’s in the yard, come on.” Kate waves them to follow, and leads them down a corridor, then a door at the end that leads outside. Bucky steps into a large, fenced-in yard just in time to hear a strange voice speak. “Aw, Lucky, no.” 

He looks over to the source of the sound and sees a man sporting dirt streaked jeans and a black and purple t-shirt, running his hand though blond hair that’s sticking up on end. A pair of purple hearing aids curl around his ear. Beside him, an absolutely adorable looking mutt that’s a least part golden lab is on its back, happily rolling around in a small muddy patch in the grass. The dog — Lucky, Bucky assumes — grins up at the man, and bounds to his feet, butting his head against the man’s thigh and whining for attention. “Well don’t get mad at me when I have to bathe you later. You brought this on yourself.” 

The man affectionately pats the dog for a moment, before it yips and bounds across the yard towards a young girl standing on the other side, trying and failing to suppress a laugh. 

“You’re a mess,” Natasha says fondly, going over to greet the man who Bucky assumes is Clint. Clint grins sheepishly, but returns the quick hug she gives him. She quickly introduces Sam, and then Steve, giving Bucky a moment without eyes on him and without pressure to eye up Clint and the environment. Clint is naturally relaxed, and he moves and talks as easily around Natasha as she does around him. Bucky can count on one hand the number of people he’s seen her this way around, which is good. Because Clint is—

\-- Damn, Clint is something else. Bucky learned long ago to trust his instinct for people, and for situations. It’s saved his neck on more than one occasion. And right now his instinct is screaming at him to give his undivided attention to Clint. He’s so busy watching the way that Clint interacts with Lucky, listening to the way he banters with Natasha and Kate, watching the way his shirt stretches across strong shoulders, that he doesn’t notice until the last second that Clint is talking to _him_ now.

“You must be James,” Bucky quickly snaps his attention back to Clint’s face and pointedly ignores the way that Steve is barely suppressing a laugh from his spot a few feet behind Clint.

“Uh, yeah. Call me Bucky,” he says offering his hand awkwardly. But it’s okay, because Clint looks just as awkward, and Bucky’s certain that he’s not imagining the way that Clint’s own eyes go wide at the sight of him, or drop down from his face for a fraction of a second. 

“Bucky, yeah. Of course. I’m, uh, Clint. Obviously I’m Clint. You’ve met Kate, and that beautiful four-legged disaster is Lucky.” Upon hearing his name, Lucky bounds over and jumps up, planting both his muddy paws on Bucky’s stomach. 

“Dog, no…” Clint says mournfully at the sight of the muddy streaks on Bucky’s shirt. Bucky laughs and gives Lucky an awkward hug before the dog drops back to all fours and trots politely back to Clint’s side. “You’re a menace,” Clint says fondly as he scratches Lucky’s head. 

“I don’t mind, he’s great,” Bucky tells Clint.

“He really is. And he’s a lot smarter than he lets on.”

“Something you have in common,” Kate chimes in. “Though you’re way more of a disaster than Lucky is.”

“True,” Clint agrees. “But I’m lovable at least.”

Yes. Bucky can definitely see how that’s true. 

“Kate, can you go and grab Sloane? I’m going to quickly show them around. If you want?” Clint directs the question towards Bucky, and Bucky nods quickly. 

“I’d love to see the place.”

Clint motions the group of them to follow, and Bucky quickly falls into step beside him as Clint shows them around the facility. It’s a really nice place they have – not large, but well laid out. It turns out that there are quite a few staff members and trainers, with a small contingent of volunteers. A few of the staff are vets, like him. Clint introduces him to Bobbi, a tall, strong blonde woman, wearing a light knee brace. She greets him warmly, and waves at Sam and Natasha.

Apparently, his friends know everyone. He’d probably have had a better idea of that if he actually left his house more often. Well, he’s going to fix that.

“It’s not just veterans we work with,” Clint explains as he leads them away from one of the training rooms. “I mean we do work with a lot of vets, but we’re also happy to work with civilians as well. Whoever we can help.”

“It’s an amazing facility,” Bucky says in admiration. 

Clint nods. “It is. And the people are amazing. I owe them a lot. Me and Lucky both.” He leads them back down the corridor towards the yard. “I looked over the initial paperwork you submitted, and I talked to Nat. Which, yeah, isn’t standard operating procedure. But you know how she is. She had everything basically lined up before you even agreed to consider this.” 

“Course she did,” Bucky mutters, and turns to throw a glare behind himself towards Natasha. She smiles innocently, and he sticks his tongue out before turning back around. He’ll end up thanking her for this, but it can wait. He doesn’t want to give her the satisfaction yet.

“So, I think we have someone who could be a good fit for you,” Clint continues. “If you’re ready to meet her?”

Bucky’s throat tightens. It’s one thing to agree to the idea, to see the facility and meet Clint and all his co-workers. It’s another thing entirely to meet the dog that could very well be his. What if they weren’t a good fit? What if she took a disliking to him? Or, what if she actually _did_ fit with him and this whole dumb idea became real? He wasn’t sure which possibility terrified him more.

“There’s no rush, Bucky, we don’t have to do anything else today if you don’t want,” Clint says gently, but Bucky quickly shakes his head. He’s a soldier. A goddamn decorated sniper. He faced armed combat without batting an eye. He can damn well handle meeting a sweet dog. 

“I want to,” he said with resolve. Clint doesn’t question him, just leads him back through the corridors and into the yard. Outside, Kate is sitting on the grass while Lucky runs around playing with the most beautiful German Shepherd Bucky has ever seen. 

“Sloane!” Clint calls, and immediately the Shepherd turns and run towards him, coming to a stop and sitting herself on the ground in front of the both of them. “Bucky, meet Sloane.”

Sloane. She’s… perfect. Bucky steps forward and kneels down in front of her, holding out both his hands. She sniffs them both, exploring, and then boops her nose against his arms. Bucky takes that as a good sign and gives her a pat. Sloane seems to eye him for a moment, and then steps into his space, nuzzling up against him. Bucky laughs and sits back on his heels, running his hands through her fur. 

“I think she likes you,” Clint says. Bucky hopes desperately that it’s true, because he loves this dog already. Any fear he had about not being able to take care of an animal is chased away. Even on his lowest days, he doesn’t think he’d be able to let her down. He thinks about it, about having the calming presence when he’s feeling like shit. He thinks about having the company when he’s anxious about going out into crowds. He thinks about bringing her along when he does his work outs, about the frisbee sitting on his kitchen table. 

Yeah, he _desperately_ hopes this works out. He’ll be heartbroken if it doesn’t. 

“You okay Bucky?” Steve asks, drawing his attention away. Reluctantly, Bucky stands, and Sloane stays at his side. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” Bucky says, surprised at how much he means it. 

“Alright. We’re going to head out then and let you settle in here. I’ll call you later.”

Bucky nods. He can’t say much, but he gives Steve a hug that says what he can’t. When he steps back, Sam and Natasha are smiling softly at him. He definitely owes them both for this, more than he can ever repay. 

Once his friends leave, it’s just Bucky and Clint out in the yard with Sloane and Lucky, who seems content to flop himself down on the grass out of the way, watching them. Clint starts by taking Bucky around the yard with Sloane, teaching him the basic commands to call for her, and ask her to stop, and to get her used to listening to Bucky rather than him.

“She needs time to adjust to someone new, too,” Clint explains after Bucky has successfully asked her to sit. “But she seems to be taking to you really well. Here, let me try something. Show this to her.” Clint hands a small dog toy over to Bucky who takes it, and holds it out for Sloane to smell and examine. 

“Now, give it here and tell her to stay,” Clint says, taking the toy back from Bucky. Bucky does as instructed as Clint walks behind Sloane towards the other side of the yard. She whines for a moment and turns her head to look back at him, but she stays put when Bucky gently but firmly repeats the command. A moment later, Clint is back at his side. “Now, tell her to go and retrieve it. 

Bucky does, and he’s more than a little surprised when Sloane turns around and runs across the yard, grabbing the toy without hesitation and bringing it back to Bucky, sitting herself at his feet again and letting him take the toy from her moth.

“You are amazing, good girl,” he praises, scratching her behind the ears. 

“Well, I’d say that you’re off to a promising start with her,” Clint says. “What do you think?”

Bucky nods, and crouches down to the ground so he can lean in and press his nose against hers playfully. “She’s amazing. I- yeah. She’s perfect.”

For a moment he feels the anxious surge of _you don’t deserve this_ but he shoves it aside. He’s not letting intrusive thoughts ruin this moment for him. 

“Good, I’m glad to hear it. Come on back inside, we can talk about where to go from here. Yes, Sloane is coming with us. We want her to spend as much time with you as possible so she can get used to working with you.” 

Bucky flushes, a little embarrassed that it had been that obvious that he hadn’t wanted to leave the dog just yet, but Clint insists that’s a good sign. “She’s going to be with you all the time. It’s good that you’re bonding so quickly. 

Bonding quickly or not, once they’re inside and sitting down over a mountain of paperwork, Clint informs him that Sloane isn’t ready to go home with him yet. “We still need to make sure she fully adjusts to working with you, and we need to make sure that she’s trained to handle your needs.” Clint explains, and while it makes perfect sense, Bucky still feels a pang of disappointment. 

“It’s okay, you’ll see her tomorrow,” Clint chuckles, startling Bucky. He’s certain that he hadn’t shown any outward signs of disappointment — Sam and Tony both had berated him for being impossible to read sometimes — but Clint seems to sense it anyway. “Ideally, what we’d like is for you to come in daily. I’ll help you work with her while we finish her training, and once we’re sure she’s settled, you can take her home for good.”

Well, now, there’s a perk that Bucky hadn’t been expecting. Coming in daily to work with Clint, getting the chance to get to know him better? That was something Bucky could get behind. 

It made saying goodbye when he left for the day a lot easier, too.

***

“I’m telling you, Steve, it’s amazing,” Bucky says later that evening, elbow deep in dishwater. He’d come back to his apartment to find Steve lurking outside with a bag of groceries that turned out to be the makings for dinner. Bucky had rolled his eyes and told Steve that he had food in his kitchen, thank you very much, but Steve had just shrugged and said at least this way, he knew he had everything he needed. Bucky hadn’t said as much, but he’s a little grateful, both for the company and the food. Steve would have been pacing around half the evening waiting for Bucky to call and report on the rest of his afternoon, and Bucky, still flying high from his time with Clint and Sloane, couldn’t wait to fill Steve in on everything that had happened.

He’d talked through preparing dinner, and Steve kept asking questions while they ate. By the time they were cleaning up, Bucky still hadn’t got it out of his system.

“So, you’re happy then?” Steve asks the obvious. 

“I wish I could have brought her home today,” Bucky admits, scrubbing out one of the pots. “And Clint, Clint is so good with her — with all the animals, really. And he’s so easy to work with and talk to. Which is a hell of a good thing, since I need to go back every day for a while.”

“Uh huh….” Steve grabs a towel and starts pointedly drying off the dishes. “You know I couldn’t help but notice, you’re talking as much about Clint as you are about Sloane.” 

Bucky huffs, and flicks a mound of soap suds at Steve. “Don’t you start.”

“Hey, I’m just saying.” Steve laughs as Bucky hides his face and turns back to scrubbing the pot with extra vigour. 

“And _I’m_ just saying that I’m going to enjoy working with him.” 

They’re both quiet for a moment, and as Bucky finishes up, he can’t help the way that his mind wanders back to the afternoon, to the look on Clint’s face as he ran around the yard with the dogs. To the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. To the way he’d taken Bucky’s snark in stride and given his own back.

“I feel comfortable around him,” Bucky admits after a few minutes of silence. “It’s… nice. Refreshing. It’s like.. I don’t know-”

“Like you don’t have to be on alert,” Steve adds. Bucky nods. “I’m happy for you. I really am.”

“Jesus Steve, it’s not like that. It’s not like I’m going to show up on his door step with flowers.” 

“I didn’t say that,” Steve says placatingly. “I’m just happy that you can enjoy being around someone new without being anxious. It’s a big step, Buck.”

Bucky mutters under his breath but Steve doesn’t push any more. That fact hadn’t escaped Bucky, either. He can’t remember the last time he’d met a stranger that he wasn’t immediately wary around. Hell, it had taken him ages before he felt like he didn’t have to be on guard all the time with Stark. He’s never really at ease around anyone that isn’t his close circle of friends, or anywhere that isn’t the safety of his own apartment. For him to feel as comfortable as he has this afternoon... That’s something he’s probably going to have to look at. But definitely not right now. Nope. He could get by avoiding that for a while. A few whiles, even.

***

Bucky goes back to the training facility every day for the next week, learning Sloane’s basic commands and teaching her some new ones to better work with his own needs. Clint is funny and patient while they’re working, and Bucky surprises himself with how comfortable it feels to be spending time with him.

On the eighth day, they take Sloane for a walk, a ‘final exam’ of sorts, for both her and Bucky, to see how they interact in the real world without the structure of the centre. They leave Lucky with Kate, and head off for a walk to the park.

Bucky doesn’t intend to start telling Clint his life story, but somehow the words come easily. He feels comfortable enough with Clint that he could swear they already know each other well as it is, while at the same time he’s ravenous for knowledge of Clint – who he is, what his life as been like up to now. He wants to know everything.

They find themselves talking about Bucky’s friendship with Steve, and about Bucky’s rocky transition into civilian life.

“I mean, it hasn’t exactly been easy on Steve, either. I’m really glad that we met Sam. He’s been a pretty damn amazing friend.”

“So I’ve heard,” Clint snorts. “Natasha seems really happy with him, so I know he’s gotta be awesome.”

“Natasha is a very good judge of character,” Bucky says, glancing sideways over at Clint.

“Nah, she just felt bad for me,” Clint deflects. 

“Please,” Bucky rolls his eyes. “It’s like you’re not even talking about the same person.” As they turn the corner, Sloane easily moves a half step ahead of Bucky, placing herself between him and the group of people making their way down the block. It’s so fluid and natural that neither group notices the way they’re being herded along the sidewalk exactly where Sloane wants them to be.

“They met through the VA right? Steve and Sam, I mean?”

“Yeah,” Bucky nods. “Steve started going there a _lot_ after we were discharged, when I was in the hospital. I mean, after I tore a strip off of him.” Clint raises an eyebrow in interest, so Bucky continues. “He spent every damn waking moment at the hospital with me. Sitting up until he passed out in chairs with exhaustion. Barely eating, never going home for long enough to do more than have a quick shower. My folks kept trying to convince him to give himself a break, but…”

“Yeah, I know the type,” Clint responds gently.

“The guilt was killing him, and I couldn’t handle it. He came in one morning, coffee in hand, looking like he hadn’t slept in a week and like he was going to fall apart if someone looked at him the wrong way. I’d had a couple of rough nights, and… I kind of just lost it on him. Told him to smarten up and get his act together. If he wanted to help me, he was doing a shitty job of it. How the hell did he think he was helping me if he couldn’t even hold himself together. It was kind of a terrible thing for me to say, I know. He was hurting as much as I was, in his own way. 

“He turned around right then and there and marched out of my room without saying a word. Next day, he comes back in and tells me that he’s checked in with the VA to find support groups, and they helped him put in a call to a therapist, and then he thanked me for giving him the asskicking he needed. By the time the nurse came in to check on me we were both bawling our eyes out.”

“Steve wasn’t hurt in the blast?” Clint asks hesitantly. 

“Look, don’t be afraid to ask me something alright? If it’s a no go zone, or I don’t wanna talk about it, believe me, I’ll tell you. My therapist has been helping me use words to talk about it all like a real live adult. She’s very proud of me.” 

Clint snorts at that. “I’m very proud of you, too,” he says solemnly. 

“But, to answer your question, no, Steve wasn’t there. He was back on base. It wasn’t supposed to be a big thing we were doing. Just a routine patrol. He only sent a few of us out. We were only supposed to be gone a couple hours. He couldn’t have known what was going to happen. And he couldn’t have done anything differently. But he had himself convinced that if he’d just been there, it wouldn’t have happened. Or that he shouldn’t have sent us out, never mind the fact that it was part of our job.”

“Guilt doesn’t always make sense.”

“No, it doesn’t. So he felt guilty, and then I felt guilty for making him feel guilty, and the whole thing was just a hot mess. But we worked through it. Separately, and together. Just like we always have. There is a reason he’s my best friend. “

They arrive at the cafe and Bucky grabs the door, holding it open and ushering Clint inside. He follows, Sloan trotting at his side. He keeps his eyes firmly on Clint’s back, trying his best to ignore the inevitable stares that come with bringing a dog inside a cafe, even with her little vest. 

“Oh. My. God. Bucky!” comes a squeal from behind the counter. “I was hoping you would bring her by soon!”

“Of course. First place we came to. Clark, this is Sloane, and Clint. He’s the one that trained her.” Clark comes around the front of the counter and stops in front of them, bouncing on his toes. Bucky looks around the shop. It’s pretty empty, being a weekday afternoon, and he’s feeling pretty safe. “You can give her a pet, if you want,” he decides.

Clark quickly takes Bucky up on the offer, crouching down in front of Sloane and giving her a quick pat and a scratch behind the ear before stepping back away from her. “I’m so happy for you. I promise, next time you come in we’ll have treats for her.” 

Once they’ve collected their order and taken their seats, Clint takes a careful sip of his coffee and immediately groans in pleasure. It sends a shiver through Bucky, and he’s damn glad that Clint is too enraptured in his coffee to notice.

“This. This right here might actually be the best damn coffee I have ever tasted in the entirety of my life.” Clint informs him.

“Told you,” Bucky says smugly. “Just wait until you try that pastry.”

“I can see why you’re regulars here. And first name basis with the staff. You mean serious business.”

“Well, mostly first name basis with Clark. They own the place, so they’ve been here obviously since we started coming.”

“I am now selfishly glad that you found it so that I can reap the benefits. I am coming back here all the time. I live here. Forever now.”

“Well, you won’t hear me complaining.” Bucy chuckles, and Sloane nudges her head gently against Bucky’s leg, a little check in. He reaches down and pats her head as though it were just second nature now. The whole moment feels surreal and natural at the same time, like they’ve done this a hundred times over, he and Clint and Sloane. In less than two weeks he’s managed to settle into a new normal — a better normal, richer, more dynamic — and he can’t begin to find the words to explain the warmth he feels in his chest as he looks across at Clint and laughs at some dumb pun that he made. 

The walk back to the centre passes in a blur, and at one point, Clint starts laughing so hard at a story Bucky was telling that he nearly falls over. But once they arrive back at the office, the mood suddenly shifts to something heavier and sour. It’s as if the moment they crossed the threshold Clint pulls away and retreats into himself. The day was a success, Bucky can take Sloane home now. He’s beyond thrilled, but the shift in Clint’s mood puts a damper on things. 

Clint walks him through the last of the paper work, and once Bucky has signed off on it, Sloane is officially his. 

“Well, that’s everything I guess,” Clint says sitting back in his chair looking like a kicked puppy. “Good luck Bucky, we’ll missing seeing the both of you around here.”

“Wait what?” Bucky pulls back in surprise.

“You and Sloane. You don’t really have a reason to come back all the time anymore.”

Bucky blinks in disbelief now that he sees what’s happening here. Right then. He meets Clint’s gaze and a slow, playful smile spreads across his face. “I can think of at least one, very good reason to come back,” he says with mock seriousness. Clint immediately perks up hopefully. It’s possibly the most adorable thing that Bucky has seen in his life. 

“Yes. I think I would miss Lucky to much,” he says gravely. There is a moment of stunned silence that hangs between the two of them before Clint bursts out laughing, dropping his head onto the desk as his shoulders shake. Bucky reaches over and ruffles Clint’s hair before grabbing a pen and jotting down his number on a scrap of paper. 

“Look, Clint, I had fun today. And I would very much luck the excuse to do this again.” He slides the paper over as Clint sits up. He takes it, and his eyes light up. 

“Yeah?” He says looking over at Bucky.

“Definitely.”

**

And just like that, Clint becomes a part of his life. He slides right into their little circle of friends like he was always meant to be ther.e. It’s made a little easier by the fact that Clint is already friends with Natasha, but really, Clint gets along with all of them. He doesn’t even bat an eye when Tony Stark drops in unannounced at Steve’s apartment one evening when they’re all hanging out over a few beers. He greets Steve with an easy kiss and then grabs himself a drink and makes his way over to where Bucky and Clint are sitting. 

“Buck. Bucky. Buckaroo. I am offended,” he says by way of greeting, dropping himself down between Bucky and Clint. “It’s been how many weeks and I haven’t met your new pupper, or your new BFF? You wound me.”

“You’ve been busy. Steve’s barely seen you except when he drags you out of the lab.”

“Big project on the go, finalizing the partnership contract for the new Stark Medical branch. Which, thanks by the way,” he taps against Bucky’s metal arm and then turns to his other side. “So, you must be Clint.” And just like that, they’re chatting up a storm. Bucky shakes his head and smiles, pushing himself up and wandering off to get himself another drink.

“So. You and Tony seem to be working out,” Bucky says casually.

Steve flushes a little, and his eyes track over towards Tony who’s talking animatedly with his arms as Clint listens intently. “Yeah, I guess we are. You think I should go save Clint from him?”

Bucky shakes his head. “Nah. Clint is a lot smarter than he lets on. I’m sure he’s loving this.”

“That’s not normally something people pick up about him right away,” Natasha says, sliding herself in beside them. 

“Well then I guess people aren’t paying enough attention,” Bucky responds. 

“You’re looking better,” she comments in an abrupt change of subject. “Less tired.”

“I’m sleeping better,” he admits, popping the cap off another beer. “Can’t believe how much Sloane helps with that. It’s like… leaving the house doesn’t feel so draining because I’m not as overwhelmed by the crowds. And I think sleeping is easier because she helps me relax, and I know that I’m safer ‘cause if anything goes wrong, she’ll hear it before I will and wake me up. It’s… it’s really good Natasha.”

Her smile is soft as she leans up to kiss his cheek. The kind of soft, thoughtful, distant smile she gets some time when she looks at them all, as though she wonders how she ended up there. Bucky asks himself the same thing all the time. He looks around the room, at Natasha and Sam, at Steve and Tony, at Clint. At how easily they all fit together, at how lucky he and Steve are to have found them all. 

Natasha takes his hand and squeezes gently as his eyes linger on Clint. He doesn’t thank her, but he doesn’t have to. She already knows.

**

Of course, it has to be the night that he comes home feeling on top of the world that everything goes to shit. Because his brain is a cruel bastard, and why he can’t have nice things? He crawls into bed with a smile on his face, feeling peaceful and happy, and wakes up a few hours later in a cold sweat, tangled in his sheets from thrashing and gasping for air. For a moment he doesn’t know where he is. He’s dimly aware that this is his apartment, but it doesn’t feel real. He doesn’t feel right. Until a warm weight is pressing against his side and a whine pulls his focus. 

“Sloane,” he breaths and throws his arms around the dog.

He’s in bed. In his apartment, in Brooklyn. He’s safe. He takes a shuddering breath and Sloane nudges him towards the edge of the bed. As he moves to stand, she runs into the hall, and a second later it’s flooded with light. She comes back to his side and nudges at his legs again, encouraging him to stand. He’s so out of sorts, and although he knows where he is, he feels distant from his own body. His fingers wrap around her collar and she carefully leads him down into the hallway to the bathroom. 

He flicks on the light, and she sits beside him, pressed against his leg as he splashes cold water on his face. It’s more reassuring than he’d like to admit. He’s had a few nightmares since Sloane came home, but nothing anywhere near as bad as he’s feeling right now. He’s still shaking as he dries off his face with one hand. His metal arm feels foreign and heavy in a way that only really happens when he feels disassociated from himself. It’s a shitty feeling. 

Sloane deliberately herds him into the living room and onto the couch. He leans over and turns on a lamp while she pulls over a blanket with her mouth and drops it beside him. He takes it, gratefully, and wraps himself up tightly, curling into the corner as she runs off. A moment later, she’s running back with his phone held delicately between her teeth.

“What?” He asks, and she pointedly drops the phone on his lap. 

“No,” Bucky says petulantly. “It’s two o’clock in the damn morning. I’m not calling anyone.” She whines and noses the phone closer, looking up at him with her bright brown eyes.

“Don’t you give me that look, it’s not going to work,” he says, already feeling his resolve breaking. She whines again, and climbs up onto the couch, dropping her head on his lap, peering up at him sadly.

“Ugh. Fine. You’re the worst you know that?” It really doesn’t take much to convince him to pick up the phone and dial Steve. It rings twice, and on the third time, Steve answers half asleep.

“Bucky?” he says, voice rough from sleep. Already Bucky can feel himself calming down. “Nightmare?”

“Yeah,” Bucky croaks. That’s all Steve needs. They’ve done this before, countless times, both ways. As Steve starts talking, Bucky nestles himself into the couch and runs his fingers through Sloane’s fur. It doesn’t take long before Bucky is feeling warm and relaxed. He actually feels like he might actually manage to get back to sleep which, if he’s honest, never happens after a nightmare this bad. Progress. He’s actually kind of excited to tell Doc. 

By the time he hangs up with Steve, his eyes are droopy again, but he manages to fire off a text to Clint, thanking him again and telling him all about how amazing Sloane was. When he wakes up in the morning at a far more civilized hour, there is a response from Clint waiting for him, telling him that next time Bucky’s welcome to call him if he’d like, he’ll always answer.

It’s a pretty damn nice way to start his morning.

**

Something just clicks between them after that. Bucky can’t really explain it, though he talked almost exclusively about Clint after filling Doc in on how much easier his latest nightmare episode has been to handle. She’s proud of his progress, and he’s pretty damn proud too. But he then processed to spend the next forty minutes telling her about Clint. 

They’ve fallen into their own rhythm, the two of them. Bucky finds himself stopping in to visit Clint at work more and more often, watching him work with the dogs while Bucky plays with Lucky and Sloane. And at least a few times a week he finds himself over at Clint’s, or Clint comes by to see him. They’ve gotten in the habit of cooking dinner together, and texting each other every day. And when Bucky has a couple of bad days where he can barely function, can’t crawl out of the dark depths of his mind or bare the thought of stepping outside, Clint still shows up and sits with him on the couch, curls up under a blanket and let’s Bucky rest his head on his shoulder. 

And all the while, Bucky learns more and more about Clint’s crazy history.

“The circus?” Bucky says in disbelief one day when they’re sitting in the office over Clint’s lunch break. “Seriously. You actually ran away and joined the circus?”

Clint nodded. “It was either that or get absorbed into the system after my parents died. I was almost a teenager by that point. And, well. My brother made it sound like fun.”

“That where you learned to shoot?” Bucky asked, motioning to the paper target on the wall of the office that was in pristine condition, save for the very center that had been shredded by countless arrows.

“Yeah. That’s also where I learned to handle animals,” Clint added, giving Lucky a pat. “After years of working with them and learning from the trainers, guess I just picked up a thing or two. It was good. For a while. Until it wasn’t.”

Bucky didn’t press.

“So, after you left, that’s when you met Natasha?” 

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “We, uh, ran in similar circles for a while. And then helped each other get out.”

“So how’d you end up working here?”

Clint smiled, and reached down to give Lucky’s stomach a rub. “Actually, it was ‘cause of him.” Clint said. “He was a stray. I found him in an alley one morning in. Not sure what happened, but he was hurt bad and bleeding out. And underweight, malnourished. Anyway, I couldn’t leave him. So I panicked, and picked him up, and tried to find the closest place with a vet. Google ended up leading me here. The office was just opening, so they called the vet on staff in ASAP and he went into surgery. I spent all day moping around, waiting to hear if he was okay. 

“Well I was invested after that. I came back every day to check on him. And since he didn’t have anyone… well we just kind of bonded. One thing led to another, and between the fact that I was good with animals, and the fact that I was here every day, I just started working here. And it’s been great.”

“I’m glad,” Bucky says fondly. “This place suits you. And, it means that I got to meet you.”

“Well that alone makes it worth it,” Clint says, waggling his eyebrows. “And, having you around means I get to benefit from your super arm.

Bucky laughs, and wiggles his metal fingers, the plates sliding and shifting easily. “And here I thought you were keeping me around for my good looks and charming personality.”

“Well, it’s mostly that, but the arm is a nice bonus when it comes time to carry things.”

“Well, you can thank Stark for that one. It is a nice perk,” Bucky admits.

“Is that how he and Steve met?” Clint asks.

Bucky nods. “We lived together for a while, after I was discharged. I’d considered moving back in with my parents but they moved out of the city, and I needed to be in nearly daily for appointments, and therapies, and what not. So Steve was the one that went with me when I joined the Stark Medical trial. Took them long enough to get their heads outta their asses and admit they liked each other, though. God, the level of snark and sexual tension between the two of them would reach critical, I swear. 

“Yeah well. A good fuck can solve a lot of problems,” Clint jokes.

“Or cause them,” Bucky adds.

“Yeah, true that.” Clint agrees, raising his coke tin in a mock toast. “Kind of glad that I don’t bother with that.”

“Yeah?” Bucky asks curiously. 

“Yeah. Um. I’m asexual,” he says. “I mean I’ve had sex, a lot, especially when I was younger. But. I never really enjoyed it, it never really did much for me. And I’m just as happy not having it.”

“I get that,” Bucky said with a nod. “I dated a lot before I deployed, guys, girls, whoever. I liked taking people out and showing them a good time. But more often than not, at the end of the night I’d drop them off with a good night kiss and leave it at that. There was only a couple of people that I really felt attracted to in that way.”

“Yeah,” Clint agreed. “Couch cuddles and sometimes make outs. Waking up to someone close by. That’s what I want.”

“That… sounds really nice actually,” Bucky admits.

“Yeah?” Clint asks, perking up a little.

“Yeah,” Bucky says thoughtfully. “Yeah that would be alright.”

**

“Yeah, I know, I’m grumpy too,” Bucky huffs as Sloane whines and looks up at him forlornly. Spring had given way to summer, which Bucky is all about, or would be if he’d checked the weather before leaving his apartment that morning. But he hadn’t, and so he was left dashing the last block to Clint’s building, soaked to the bone in the pouring rain. His hair is a mess, his shirt is soaked through, and the shelter of the little entrance at Clint’s front door does nothing as the wind pelts the rain in from the side. Bucky hits Clints buzzer as the soft bundle he’s holding against his chest quietly mews. “Just a minute more doll,” Bucky sooths as Clint’s voice comes over the intercom.

Finally, they’re inside, trudging their way up the stairs to Clint’s apartment, leaving a trail of water along the way. Bucky would be feeling a lot worse about that, if he wasn’t more concerned about getting warm and dry. Clint’s waiting for them at the door of the apartment, and as Bucky steps inside, Clint looks at the growing puddle in the entry way. “Uh… I’ll get you a towel?” He says, stepping back. “Hold on a sex. Sec.” 

“Several. And coffee!” Bucky calls after him, trying to wiggle out of his boots. At all the commotion, Lucky comes bounding over, and takes immediate interest in the bundle that Bucky is holding. “Give her some space Lucky you punk,” Bucky says, scratching Lucky’s ear as he carefully makes his way down the hall. Clint arrives back with a couple of towels, a dry pair of sweatpants and a shirt. 

“Uh. Here. Thought you might want something dry to wear. You can toss your stuff in the dryer if you— Bucky, what the hell is that?” 

“Snickerdoodle,” Bucky says, taking the clothes and towels from Clint and handing over the drenched, scraggly little kitten he’d been holding, before stalking off towards the bathroom.

“Snicker- Bucky, what’s a Snickerdoodle?” Clint yells after him, slightly panicky.

“You’re holding her,” Bucky informs him before shutting the door. Peeling off his wet clothes is the opposite of fun, but stepping into the warm, dry things feels incredibly refreshing. He deliberately doesn’t think about the fact that it’s Clint’s clothes that he’s wearing, and he doesn’t doesn’t think about the extra warmth he feels tingling in his chest.

Bucky makes his way back out to the living room to find Clint sitting on the couch, delicately trying to dry off the little cat. Bucky snatches up one of the other towels and gently dries off Sloan, though by the looks of Clint’s hall way she’s shaken off most of the extra water herself.

“Sorry about the mess,” Bucky apologises as Sloane nuzzles into him, thanking him for drying her. She trots away from him and takes up a new spot beside Lucky, both staring intently at the cat in Clint’s lap.

“I’ll forgive you if you tell me why you brought me a cat,” Clint says.

“First of all, she’s my cat, and second of all, I didn’t plan to bring her here, I found her on the way.” 

“Nuh uh, she isn’t just your cat,” Clint protests. “She’s a stray and you brought her here after you found her. That makes her at least 50 per cent my cat.” Bucky stares at Clint in disbelief, as Clint looks up at him with a shit eating grin and holds the cat closer to his chest. “50 per cent, that’s my final offer.”

“Fine,” Bucky huffs, dropping down on the couch beside Clint. “But I’m taking her home with me.”

“Okay fine, but you have to promise to bring her over to visit.”

“Might just be easier for you to come and visit her,” Bucky points out. 

Clint gasps in mock scandalized shock. “My word. If I didn’t know better I’d say you were just trying to find an excuse to lure me out all by myself, Mr. Barnes.” 

“Pretty sure you beat me to that,” Bucky points out, looking around the apartment and back at Clint pointedly. 

“Don’t hear you complaining about it.”

“Definitely not,” Bucky smiles. 

The kitten is warming up a little more and getting a little more curious about her surroundings, so Clint lets her go and she steps off his lap onto the couch, making her way slowly and deliberately towards Lucky and Sloane. She stops in front of them, and both dogs lean in to sniff her. She reaches one tiny little paw forward, and promptly boops Lucky on the nose. Clint and Bucky both burst out laughing as Lucky recoils in surprise, and then returns a second later, only to have her do it all over again.

“Our cat is the best,” Clint informs him, and Bucky can’t help to agree, both that she is the best, and that she is their cat. “Bring her into the centre, the vet there can take a look at her and make sure she is healthy, and get her any shots she needs.

“Snickerdoodle,” Bucky repeats. Clint stares at him blankly. “I was serious, her name is Snickerdoodle.”

“Alright, Snickerdoodle it is,” Clint agreed without argument. Good. Snickerdoodle is the best name for his cat — their cat.

The afternoon passes in a blur, three animals and two humans horsing around Clint’s apartment, until they all burn through their energy and end up flopped over, Lucky and Sloane on Lucky’s large cushion on the floor with Snickerdoodle safely between them. Clint and Bucky are sprawled across the couch, Clint’s head resting on a pillow in Bucky’s lap, and outside the rain is tapering off, and the sun is peeking its way through the clouds. 

**

Summer hits full force, and Steve’s birthday is on them before Bucky realises. There had apparently been some debate over how they were going to celebrate. Tony had wanted to throw a big bash at the tower, but Steve insisted that he wanted to go out. Tony countered by trying to rent out an entire bar, but Steve patiently turned him down, explaining that sometimes you just need the character and charm of having other people there. Tony had huffed and pouted a little, but eventually gave in. Not that it was ever really a debate — Tony would have given Steve the moon for his birthday if that’s what he wanted.

And that’s how they find themselves tucked away in a large corner table at Bucky and Steve’s favourite neighbourhood pub in Brooklyn. The kind of place that you only find out about if you walk past it, the kind that’s top notch, feels like home, and never shows up in any hipster or tourist blogs.

Everyone makes it out; Steve and Bucky are there, along with Tony, obviously, and Sam, Clint, and Natasha. A few people that Steve and Sam know through the VA have joined them, people that Bucky knows, and likes, and who buy them all far too many rounds. It’s a good night, and at one point, Bucky and Tony insist on getting Steve standing up on a chair so the whole bar can sing him Happy Birthday. Even Sloane yips at the end when everyone claps. 

Even a few months before, the idea of a noisy, crowded bar would have left him feeling on edge, even though he still would have come and had fun. But now, he knows that the moment he feels overwhelmed, he can put out his hand and Sloane will be there, and she’ll guide him outside, take him somewhere quiet, and shield him until he could ground himself. And he wouldn’t feel guilty about taking anyone else away from the party. He’s happy, he’s surrounded by people he loves, he feels confident. Maybe it’s just that he’s had one too many glasses, but he slides off his chair just long enough to wrap his arms around Sloane and hug her close, pressing his face into her fur. When he looks up again, Clint is smiling down with such fondness and adoration, it makes Bucky’s heart melt a little.

They end up closing down the bar. Tony offers to get them a ride home, but Bucky shakes his head. The night is clear and comfortable, and Clint’s place isn’t far. He can always cab from there if he doesn’t want to walk the rest of the way home. And from the way Clint is slumped sleepily at his side, Bucky figures he should definitely make sure Clint gets home safely, and in one piece. 

Only a few minutes into their walk, it becomes evident that Clint has had far more to drink than Bucky — Bucky’s usually pretty careful about how much he drinks with his meds — and at the third time that Clint yawns and stumbles, Bucky stops.

“Alright, come here doll,” Bucky says, and easily scoops Clint up under his metal arm. Clint doesn’t complain, he just wraps his arms around Bucky’s shoulders and drops his head down. Not for the first time, Bucky is grateful for the extra strength the arm gives him. He can lock his elbow, and easily hold Clint the rest of the way home without problem. It’s a bit of a challenge fishing the keys out of Clint’s pocket, but Bucky manages, and he doesn’t let go of Clint until they’re all the way inside the apartment. 

Clint stirs just as Bucky goes to set him down on the bed. Clint blinks, and looks around in a slight daze. “You carried me all the way home?” He asks confused, and then reaches to fumble with his shoe before giving up when he finds the laces have knotted. Bucky chuckles and kneels down, carefully working the knot loose and sliding Clint’s shoe off his foot. “My hero!” Clint says, reaching up for Bucky.

“You are precious, but you need sleep,” Bucky tells him, taking a seat on the bed before Clint can pull him off balance. 

“Stay?” Clint asks him, looking up with sudden clarity of mind. “Please?”

Bucky hesitates, but only for a moment. It’s been a few weeks since his last nightmare, and Sloane is right here. She’d stop him before anything bad happened.

“Yeah,” he says, crawling into Clint’s bed and snuggling down beside him. “I’ll stay.”

Clint grins wide, and flops back against his pillows. He carefully takes out his hearing aids and sets them on the bedside table, and the rolls and fits himself in against Bucky’s side. He’s asleep in minutes. 

**

Miraculously, Clint wakes before him in the morning. The upshot to this is that Bucky wakes up to the smell of fresh coffee as Clint slips into bed with two cups in hand. Bucky sits up and takes one gratefully. “I love you,” he says without thinking, taking a sip and sighing happily. 

Clint chuckles, but it’s a little awkward, and a tiny bit forced. It’s enough to send alarm bells blaring through Bucky’s head. “Clint?” Bucky asks concerned.

“Everything is fine,” Clint said quickly, assuring him. “I promise. Everything is honestly fine. Better than fine really. Things are great. Really great. I just kind of thought. Well.”

“We need to talk?” Bucky finishes, and Clint nods.

“Yeah. I mean, not a bad talk. At least I hope not. I think we’re on the same page, but like. I just kind of want to make sure.”

“Right. Probably a good idea,” Bucky says, and takes a deep breath. Clint might have broached the subject, but he wants to get this off his chest. “I like what this is, Clint. Ever since I met you, things have been… better. I feel comfortable around you in a way I don’t feel around anyone, except like. Steve.”

“I like what this is too,” Clint agrees, clutching his coffee. “I just wanted to make sure. You know, you— ah to hell with it. Bucky, you wanna date me for real?”

“Yes,” Bucky said immediately, but Clint presses on. 

“I mean we already spend all our time together, we basically have a cat together—”

“--Because you insisted she be equally your cat—”

“-- And I just think that we’re already doing everything except making it official—”

“--Clint I already said yes.”

Clint pauses, blinks for a second, and then grins. “Right. You did. Yes. Okay perfect.” He pauses again before adding. “I’m gonna kiss you now okay?”

Bucky doesn’t object, and Clint leans in, snaking his arm around Bucky’s waist and pressing their mouths together in a gently unhurried kiss. Bucky’s pretty sure he ruins it by grinning the whole time, but Clint doesn’t seem to care. They end up both laughing and half falling over each other, and. by the time they catch their breaths, they’re a tangle of limbs and blankets with Bucky’s head resting on Clint’s chest.

“In the interest of honesty,” Clint says after a moment, much more subdued. “I can’t promise I’ll ever want to have sex. I mean, I might, I don’t know. But I also might not. So if that’s gonna be a thing-”

“--We’ll deal with it okay?” Bucky promises. “I meant what I said too. This? This is good. We’ll sort it out together as we go.”

Eventually, their growling stomachs and whiny dogs force them up and out of bed. Bucky’s clothes from the night before reek of alcohol, so he ends up stealing more of Clint’s after rinsing off in a quick shower. By the time they’ve taken the dogs for a walk, fed them, and dropped Lucky back at the apartment, they’re both ravenous. Bucky is pretty sure that the eggs benedict that he’s eating is the best thing he’s ever tasted in his life.

“You know that’s one thing you can’t get out in the field,” Bucky says between bites. “A decent breakfast. I mean, MRE’s are fine and all, but my god. The breakfast ones are terrible. And then, when I got back, obviously I was in the hospital eating hospital food. And like, a super strict diet since I was healing. So the first time I got to eat a meal outside, I made Steve take me for brunch. There was a diner close to the hospital.”

“What did you have?” Clint asks.

“Pancakes and bacon,” Bucky remember fondly. “Had to cut the pancakes with my fork ‘cause I only had one hand. But damn, they were good. It was the first time I actually felt like I maybe had a chance of getting a normal life back.”

“And now look at you,” Clint said softly and reached across the table. Bucky takes Clint’s hand in his metal one and gently squeezes. “Now look at me. I’m one lucky bastard.”

“Who worked damn hard to get here,” Clint insists. 

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed. “Guess I did.”

By the time they finish eating, Bucky is very seriously considering the merits of just sliding out of his chair and rolling home. It might be easier than trying to stand. They don’t really have a plan, so they stop back at home to pick up Lucky again, and let their feet lead them around Brooklyn, wandering aimlessly down streets and through the parks, holding hands, carefree and happy. Briefly, Bucky marvels at how great his life is now—

— and then he can’t breathe. His vision is distant. His brain is full of static and the lead weight of pure, incomprehensible dread. And he can’t breathe. He tries, and his chest constricts, so he tries again, but it doesn’t work. His entire existence and everything he is is compressed into this single point of panic and hyperventilation.

Distantly, he hears Clint’s voice, but more immediate is the sharp feeling on his arm, followed by a sound that is halfway through a bark and a whine. Sloane butts her head against his hand and his fingers clasp around her collar. She starts walking. His head is still an echochamber of horrible feelings, he is still fighting to catch his breath, and walking like this is harder. But he doesn’t care. He holds onto Sloane’s collar as if his life depended on it. She’ll keep him safe. And at his other side Clint is there, hand on his elbow, speaking to him in a low, gentle voice. Bucky isn’t paying attention to the words, but it doesn’t matter. The voice is enough to reassure him. 

The walk is a blur, but they must have been close to home, because before Bucky is aware, Sloane is leading him up to his apartment. His hands are shaking, but he manages to take out his keys. Clint takes them from him and lets them inside. Sloane wastes no time in herding him to the couch and sitting him down. She jumps up, and pulls the blanket from the back across his shoulders, and then drapes herself across his lap. He’s dimly aware of Snickerdoodle mewing and curling up on his shoulder by his neck. Clint takes a seat on the couch beside him, and Sloane shifts enough so that Clint can nestle himself into Bucky’s side. Bucky immediately curls into him and takes a deep breath.

He loses track of how long he’s sitting there, but Clint never once makes any indications of wanting to move until Bucky slowly uncurls himself and sniffs. God, he must look like a mess. He can feel how puffy and red his eyes are, his cheeks are uncomfortable with dried tears, but as soon as he sits up, Clint gently takes Bucky’s chin in his hand and kisses each cheek. 

“ ‘m sorry,” Bucky mumbles. “I dunno what-what happened. ‘m sorry.”

“Hey, none of that now,” Clint says gently. “Not your fault, nothing to be sorry for. Brains are dicks.”

“God, I’m such a fucking mess,” he swears, and pulls away. “I can’t.”

“Can’t what?” Clint asks evenly. 

“Can’t. Anything. Can’t do this,” Bucky says, waving his arm awkwardly under the blanket.

“Right. I’m going to stop you right there Buck,” Clint says firmly. “We’ll talk more about this later. But this? This doesn’t scare me off. You’re my friend. You’ve been my friend for months. You’ve told me all about what you deal with and what you’re working through. You’ve called me on more than one occasion. And I’m still here. I’m not going to suddenly think it’s too much because we’re officially dating or whatever. Nothing has changed.”

Bucky looks up at him, unconvinced, and Clint takes his hand. “Alright look. If this happened yesterday. If we were out for a walk, just like today, and you got hit with a massive panic attack, would you be sitting here telling me you couldn’t do this friendship?”

Bucky shakes his head.

“And this morning, we decided that we were basically already on the same page, so the only thing that changed between yesterday and today is what we’re calling it, right?”

Bucky nods slowly.

“So. You can do this, alright? You got your shit, I got my shit, and we’re just going to deal with all the shit together okay? One big terrible, messy shit pile.”

Bucky snorts.

“Yeah, okay, that one got away from me. Point is, we got this alright? I promise.” Clint leans in and presses a kiss to Bucky’s forehead. “I love you Buck, okay?”

“Love you too,” Bucky admits. “And not just because you bring me coffee in bed.”

“Now, that _is_ high praise.”

Okay, so he might be a hot mess sometimes, but it was okay. Because at least he was a hot mess who was making progress, who had a pretty amazing life.

Yeah, they’d figure it out.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://dapperanachronism.tumblr.com)!


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